


The Stars Sing in Their Ears

by CavannaRose



Series: The Battle Against Orora [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Druids, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Non-Binary Culture, Origin Stories, Other, Tabaxi, Undead, Zombies, cat people - Freeform, non-binary characters, non-binary romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-01 01:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: The tale of a Tabaxi Druid, called by the stars to cure the plague of Undeath sweeping across the land, and the true love waiting for them at home.





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing they remember is a clawing pain in their stomach. They had no language, no knowledge to identify hunger, but they learned quickly that those that cried out would disappear, never to return to the dark place full of foul odours and the heat of too many small, furry bodies pressed tight together.

Their second memory was of the sickness. It swept through the dark place, and once quivering bodies fell still, the stench growing stronger in the humid air. There were terrifying faces, with sharp teeth and strange eyes, smelling things they could not identify. They were carried into the brightness with the others, they did not know what sun was, and left atop a heap of the dead and dying. They had no words, but they could feel their body fading around them. Then the stars whispered to them, urging them to hold on.

Then there were kind eyes, eyes like theirs, and strong, furred arms lifting them and a few others. The darkness was around them, and the travel was jarring, jolting, and seemed to go on forever. The stars whispered that they should trust.

It took many more moons before they learned to speak, even to walk. The rescued were all called Mitzon, which they learned meant Kitten, as was the way of these people. They would earn their names when they were ready to be adults of the tribe, a matter of moons and maturity. Through all of this, the found cubs clung together. They were smaller, more slender than their saviours. Deprivation had marked them more surely than the circumstances of their birth.

They fell in love, during these good years. Another from the dark place, a familiar smell, a cautious smile. Their heartmate was more beautiful than any flower, and gentle of nature. They soothed them when the stars screamed loudly in the night, and finally urged them to seek out the shaman, to ask for assistance. To tell their secret.

The shaman was old and twisted by the weight of their years. They spoke of many things. Of the Sweet Sisters, that sung from the stars to their Chosen. Of Magic and Life. Of Nature and Undeath. They learned to listen to the stars, and to control the magics that swelled within their veins. They found their mission.

They were young when they stumbled into their Naming Hunt. They had not intended to set out, but the stars had been loud that morning, and they had crept from the den and the warmth of their heartmate, following a foul odour on the wind. It led them to a bog at the edge of the jungle, corrupt with disease, and trapped within it, three hulking Crocodilian forms, more bone and decay than flesh. The stars screamed in outrage, and they flew into the foul creatures, clawing and fighting.

It was a fierce battle, leaving a deep scar across their muzzle, one ear chewed and torn. Still, the stars sung praises in their ear, and they knew that they had done well. They returned victorious, with a new name. Miquizmauhque. A strong name. A brave name. It was several moons before their heartmate earned their own name, Eloxochitl. A name as gentle as they were. By then, the urge to follow the stars was growing within Miquizmauhque. To protect them on their journey, for they both knew Miquizmauhque must go as the goddesses willed, Eloxochitl chewed off one of their claws and strung it on a band of leather, so that they could keep it close to their heart. Their parting was joyous, for they knew they would be together when Miquizmauhque returned.

Miquizmauhque made their way across the lands, scouting wide of Sentiir, until they came to Fallport. They listened to the stars, sneaking aboard a ship heading west. They were discovered at sea, and their ferocity despite their small size impressed and amused the hardened pirates, so they were allowed to stay. They travelled west for many moons, taking treasures great and small. At one small island, they were challenged to combat by a group of belligerent ogres. Laughing, the Captain sent Miquizmauhque to do battle, saying that the threat deserved only their smallest member. The ogres were furious, and then shocked as the small furry creature fought with a primal savagery few had seen. They offered, on Miquizmauhque’s victory, a glorious prize. Gauntlets of strength to match the fury of the small fighter, who was considered one of their tribe for their fierce victory.

Miquizmauhque returned to the ship, however, as the stars were urging them further. All was well, until they hit the Sea of Ghasts. Here, the presence of the restless dead nearly drove Miquizmauhque insane as the stars screamed in their ears so loudly they were deafened to the voices of their crewmates. There was a fatal incident, and the Captain was forced to make a choice. On the other side, Miquizmauhque seemed to come into theirself again, but the damage was done, and the trust they had was broken. As the ship stocked up at Jeaniir Peak, Miquizmauhque was left behind.

They did not blame their Captain, and thought very little of it after a few short hours. The stars were singing again, the song insistent. They needed to go north and east, for there was a growing corruption, a scent on the wind. They travelled mostly by night, by longstriding and by feline forms. They found the towns curiously inhabited by tiny felines, mostly unnoticed, and took that form for theirself. This way they could blend in, go unnoticed, and hear many secrets. Eventually, this, and the song of the Sweet Sisters, brought them to Belare. Here they watched, hunting quietly in back alleys as the undead menace grew. The shifters were cleverer of nose than most, but Miquizmauhque was just another cat, and gave them a wide berth. They watched the small rebellion grow, watched it falter, but what did that matter to them? They were hear to cleanse the land of the undead, the matters of the unfurred had no impact on their mission.


	2. The Naming Hunt

The small ones, rescued from the dark place, clung together more tightly than the other cubs. Those born free gamboled and played, tried to lure the others out to join them. The strange, small cubs were cautious. Distrustful eyes watched the antics of the others, and wondered when the bad thing would happen. Like their den mates, this one had no knowledge of play, of the strange, harsh language their rescuers spoke. They wanted to know, though. The stars sang wordless songs in their ears. Images and emotions. They wanted to become more, to surpass the darkness that they sprung from. Tentatively they stretched their paws, formed small words on a heavy tongue, and learned to live.

The other cubs wrestled, playing hunt and pounce, find and seek. They were much smaller, and wrestling mostly ended with them on their backs, a larger, younger cub above them – triumphant. Hunt and pounce was better. They were cautious, thoughtful by nature. They had the patience to wait and observe. The pouncing, though, was not as good. Find and seek was the best. They could always find. No matter where the bigger cubs hid, the small one could find them. They learned the joy of victory. The admiration of their den mates. Another from the dark place came closer, fur intermingling as darkly striped fur brushed along spotted. They smelled familiar, cautious smiles danced across faces that barely understood the expression.

The striped cub was graceful and willowy. The curve of their tail, the arch of their whiskers, all of it thrilled through the small one. They were almost of a size, though the striped one was taller. All of them were taller, though not as tall as those born free. They sat and listened to the stars, and the stars said it was good. The pair were soon inseparable. Two sleek shadows, twined together in rest and play. They did learn to play. Just the two of them together, they learned the freedom within laughter. Heads turned up to the sun, grass tickling their paws. They romped through the edges of the marshlands, returning short of breath and muddy as the brightness of day neared its end.

The striped cub never stayed out after the darkness settled on the shoulders of their home. The small one whispered secrets of singing stars, but even that could not overcome the fear of the place from whence they came. They quarreled, a full day of tense silence, before the small one slunk back to their striped companion, soft scented flowers clutched in their teeth. A peace offering. They were hollow without their striped companion. Their days were empty and quiet, and to go another without seeing their companion’s sharp-toothed smile was beyond what they could tolerate.

Forgiveness was a lesson gratefully learned. By the next moon swell, they were best companions again. Then, they became something more. The first stolen kisses were in a rainstorm. Sheltered under an aging tree. There were more, after that. Ducking behind boulders, sneaking into caves. All innocent, that first blush of love. The small one was growing bolder, the voice from the stars more frequent. They urged them to try new things, to challenge theirself to greater feats of cunning. Then, one day as they played, they pinned the striped cub. Perched atop in the victor’s position, they plucked a flower bud from a tree, causing it to open in their paw. The striped one was amazed, but also fearful for their heartmate. They had just learned what they could be to each other, but magic was a fearful thing. They stopped trying to do such things.

They held each other at night, keeping the secret, but the small one’s dreams became troubled. The stars wanted them to use their gifts. Finally, the striped cub convinces them to seek out the shaman. They were old and wise, and could teach them many things. Maybe they would know why the stars refused to allow them rest. They took one more day, one day just to play and to love and to be together, for in the morning they would speak words aloud that would change their lives. Both of them knew it to be true. They raced and kissed and cuddled and wrestled and played all the games they had learned. Leaping Frogs and Falling Leaves and River Rocks.

The next morning, shaking with fear they had not felt since the dark place from whence they came, they went to the shaman. Their voice was hoarse and choking, but they told their tale of the stars, and the flowers that blossomed in their paw. The shaman had them show the trick. They tried others. Can you control the flame, Mitzon? Can you move the water? Can you summon thunder? Try as they might, the small one could not. The shaman, though, was not angry. They smiled a gentle, old smile, and told them a tale of the Sweet Sisters. High above in the sky, they sung amidst the stars, calling to those lost and abandoned. They cared naught for dwarves and elves and such lofty folk as lived in the west, stomping heavy metal boots and declaring their gods’ names to all and sundry. The Sweet Sisters were more than that.

They spoke of Magic. Of things that the small one may one day learn. Of summoning the light of day into the darkness, and the small one stood up and took notice. They spoke of moon magic and water, of speaking to the lesser beasts, of calling for their aid, of taking their very shape. They spoke of Life. Of the body and its aging, of wounds and healing. They spoke of the Circle. Of the dead feeding the plants, the plants feeding the prey, the prey feeding the hunter. They spoke of Nature. Of the whisper of plants. Of the stories that trees could tell. In the light of day, with darkness far off, they spoke of Undeath. Of the abomination of magic that wrenched bodies from the Circle and bent them to the will of another. They spoke of corruption and darkness, and the small one shivered.

At night, the shaman and the small one would sit and listen to the stars, practicing small magics that they had learned. The thought of Undeath was sharp in the mind of the small one. They could not shake it. As they curled around their heartmate in their den, they knew. This is why the stars sang their songs for them. This was the call they were waiting to answer. They asked for more stories, more explanations of this Undeath, until the shaman had no more knowledge to share.

One morning they woke, breath heavy, heart racing. The stars screamed in their ears, demanding they come. They carefully untangled from their heartmate and crept into the pale light of early morning, following a foul scent on the wind. The sun was almost to its zenith when they found the bog, three hulking forms wallowing at the edge, limbs grasping at the sides in an attempt to escape. The faces were from nightmares, but somehow worse. Bones showing white against thick grey hides. The stars screamed, urging the small one on. Primal savagery rippled through their veins, claws growing longer, teeth growing sharper. Magic made of them something dangerous.

The abominations were fearsomely strong, far stronger than one small cub. Still, with magic in their claws, they slashed and clawed. One beast dug teeth into their ear, gnawing on them like meat at the fire pit, and the small one screamed. They left part of them with the monster as they tore theirself away, turning with a ferocity they did not know they had. They clawed the foul beings to pieces, scattering their parts so that they would return to the ground where they belonged. Exhausted, they stumbled home, the stench of the creatures clinging to their fur, and found they had earned theirself a name, and were officially an adult in the eyes of the tribe.


	3. Chapter 3

Miquizmauhque stalked anxiously around the perimeter of their village, ears twitching at every sound, yellow eyes straining against the darkness. Their heartmate had been gone for four hours, and they felt worry bubbling up within their chest. They had lived separately for the first time since they came to Altepetl, the nights long as the moons drifted past. Adults and children old enough to be weaned did not den together amongst their people. Rules were firmly enforced. Even though most did not bond so deeply until they were into adulthood, and despite Miquizmauhque having so few moons, no exceptions could be made. The elders said it was the will of the goddesses. To test the bond of the young ones. It was a sign, some whispered, that their bonding would have to be strong enough to withstand longer separations. Further distances.

The stars kept singing in Miquizmauhque’s ears, and without the soothing touch of their heartmate, their nights were often restless. They stalked through the darkness, seeking something they could not name. Their heartmate was not yet ready to leave the safety of the cub den, so they suffered in silence, unwilling to put the burden of their crumbling sense of self on the shoulders of their beloved heartmate. The stars wanted them to leave, to seek out the Undeath, but they wanted to stay where they were, close to the family they found in this sheltered place. They attended to Tlacaelel, learning the ways of the shaman and the Sweet Sisters, longing for the day they would be reunited with their heartmate. The elder Tabaxi was concerned by their sleepless nights. They could not put off the goddesses for too long, the consequences could be severe.

All this and more ran through their mind, enough thoughts that for once they could not hear the stars singing. The tension that ran through them pushed back even the comfort of the encroaching darkness. Finally, on the path they had taken just a few short hours before, the figure of their heartmate slowly became clear against the fading light. The way they walked, the sway of their hips, no one was as beautiful in motion as their beloved. Miquizmauhque held theirself rigid, afraid to move, afraid that it would disturb the moment and the vision would prove false, fade away. It was truly their beloved. The urge to run to their heartmate was like a sickening pull in their guts, but the rules were very clear. The returning Hunter must make it to the village on their own. Tail twitching in agitation, Miquizmauhque waited, breath held against the anxiety pressing in against them.

As soon as a dainty paw stepped over the village boundary, they were off, like an arrow shot from a bow. The patterns of their fur blurred as they streaked across the space. Almost at their heartmate, they failed to notice a stone by their paws, and were dumped into an unceremonious heap at the other Tabaxi’s feet. Sparkling eyes and laughter danced across their senses like a late moon rain, and they smiled. It was a felicitous ending to a Naming Hunt. Smiles and laughter were good foretellings, promising a life free from the suffering that they had begun within. Their heartmate reached down, placing a large, perfect blossom on their nose. The pale, fragrant petals were rare in this late season. With the locating of the blossom, they had completed their Naming Hunt. Eloxochitl. The whisper danced across the faces of the gathered tribe. Their heartmate had a name as beautiful as they were in the eyes of Miquizmauhque.

Unlike the dramatic and unexpected nature of Miquizmauhque’s Naming Hunt, the proper preparations had been made to welcome Eloxochitl amidst the adults of the tribe. At the end of the simple ceremony, bedecked in flowers and vines, the heartmates made their own vows to one another, cheeks pressing tight together as their promises were sealed. They couldn’t bear to be parted for a moment longer, and the tribe rejoiced that their bond was unbroken, that it had survived the time and space of separation. Again the song of the stars faded, for a time, as they were permitted precious moments to simply be together. Soon, they both had their roles in the tribe to keep them busy during the day. Miquizmauhque at the feet of Tlacaelel, learning more as the days went by, and Eloxochitl with Ticitl, the herbalist. At night they would sit close together, murmuring to one another of the things they had learned. Their minds and lives were full. Life was good.

Despite this, the dreams slowly returned, more fervent than before. Miquizmauhque would wake in agony, the song of the stars a roar in their ears. Eventually, the call could not be put off any longer. If they tried, their sanity may not survive. Holding tight to Eloxochitl, they whispered promises to one another, love sounds rumbling within their chests as they pressed their cheeks tight together. When the Sweet Sisters called so strongly, it was foolishness to resist. The summons was an honour, they were needed for something more. Their heartmate soothed them with soft kisses, touching their noses together and catching their nervous eyes. They were Miquizmauhque’s strength. Their very heart.

Eloxochitl beamed proudly at Miquizmauhque as they prepared to set out on their quest, whispering how they were lucky to have a heartmate that had earned such a high calling. The honour was shared between them, for what called one, echoed in the second, like two halves of a whole. They loathed to be parted, clinging tight, and then Eloxochitl slipped something small and hard into Miquizmauhque’s paw, pricking the pads on the sharp end. Looking down, they saw they held a small dark claw, bloodied and ragged at the end. Their heartmate smiled crookedly. “To hold me close to your heart, until it beats next to mine once more.”

They took the promise of that whispered voice with them as they set out towards the sea.


	4. Chapter 4

The journey overland was taxing. Miquizmauhque hunted, both on foot and in the guise of the large, four footed cousin that stalked through the trees and stole unattended young. They dug small scrapes to sleep in, or climbed trees. Some nights they traveled until exhaustion pulled their bones every downward, like the ground beneath them would swallow them whole. They always stopped, if even for a moment, when the Stars first showed each night. They would turn their face towards the Sweet Sisters and bathe in their song, communing with the voices that drove them to venture forth into the world. At night when they finally fell into sleep, they would clutch Eloxochitl’s claw tightly in their paw, whispering words of love to their distant heartmate, hoping to dream of them.

The voices at Fallport were harsher than Miquizmauhque was used to. The sound battered against their ears like the raucous calls of birds. They did not speak the tongue of the tribe, nor of the reptilian folk from whom they had fled. Frightened by both the sounds, and the strange hairless creatures that seemed to be everywhere, they kept low. As they had traveled, they had seen some of these peoples along the road, but caution had kept them away from contact. They were not ready. Miquizmauhque was not lonely, though they had never truly been alone before. The Stars sung to them so sweetly, they were never truly on their own, and they had their heartmate’s claw, to bolster them when their own faith flickered.

This Fallport place was a curious mishmash of races and creatures, including small panther-like creatures, no bigger than a span of hands, which seemed to go about completely unnoticed. These tiny cousins fascinated Miquizmauhque, who followed them around Fallport for almost a full day, until they saw one of the monsters from their cubhood nightmares rambling down the cobblestone street. Fleeing down an alley and focusing everything they had been taught by the shaman and the Stars that crooned to them at night, they willed theirself into the shape of the tiny cousins. Thus disguised, they continued their investigations, giving the hide-covered reptilian a wide berth. The dainty feet of the tiny cousin were ideal for sneaking about, and they settled comfortably into the new furry form. Occasionally they caught vaguely familiar scents, like their people, but not smelling of the tribe.

The voices of the Sweet Sisters pulled them away from their private fascination with the tiny cousins, out towards the boats near the docks. The salt smell of the sea and the unwashed sailors made their nose twitch with curiosity. Trying to get closer, without looking too interested, they perched on a barrel, grooming theirself as they kept a narrowed eye on the comings and goings from the boats. The furless ones were shouting, with much moving of items, like when the tribe migrated to the summer camp. Perhaps they were readying for a voyage? If so, one of these could take them further, towards the singing Stars and the destiny that awaited them out in the wider world. They were so focused on the ships that almost failed to notice a large green-skinned creature sneaking up behind them with a burlap sack. Escaping at the last moment, they watched the tusk-toothed being scoop up one of the tiny cousins who had been less nimble, murmuring to it what sounded like comfort words in a strange language, and whisking it off onto one of the boats.

Fascinated, Miquizmauhque, disguised as yet another small cousin, followed along, and darted up the gangplank behind the strange hairless being. The tiny cousin was released onto a small bed of sacks, treated to much petting, and given an offering that smelled like smoked fish of some kind. The scent set their mouth watering, but they held back, still cautious.  Tail twitching, they nosed about the interesting new place, assimilating smells and textures that were completely unfamiliar to them. The strange swaying of the ship was almost hypnotic, and the few times they had been out on the marsh skiffs was simply unable to compare to this new experience. The small cousin eventually gained its courage and explored with them, and the pair pounced on scurrying mice amidst the barrels, playing like kittens in this new environ.

Content that they had seen their fill, ears straining to hear if the shouting had died down, Miquizmauhque cautiously made their way up and out of the bowels of the ship. The voices of the Sisters were quiet, giving no indication whether this was, in fact, the ship they needed to be aboard. Miquizmauhque was quickly frustrated in their search to locate the gangplank by which they entered, and it took but a moment to realize that the odd swaying feeling beneath their feet was the ship in motion… Sometime while they were below decks - the ship had set sail.

Padding over to the rail of the ship on four tiny paws, they leapt to a railing for a better view. In the distance, the buildings of Fallport were getting smaller, and a sudden doubt filled Miquizmauhque’s heart. How would they return to Eloxochitl? How would they find their way home, from so far away? Closing their eyes, they slunk back down to the deck, curling up behind a pile of ropes and sending up a miserable prayer to the Sweet Sisters. The Stars sang back to the disheartened Tabaxi, crooning words of comfort. They were heading in the right direction. Their purpose was on the horizon. Don’t look back, not yet. Have faith that the Sisters would return them to their heartmate. Miquizmauhque could not fight the voices of their goddesses, and slowly relaxed, accepting that fate had placed them aboard this vessel for a reason, and that hopefully they would wake closer to whatever task that was required of them. The sooner the abominations were destroyed, the sooner they could return to their own den, and their beloved heartmate.


End file.
